Tracking Sensors: The Story of a Raider and his Robot
by MentatEnthusiast
Summary: Meet Gubbs, a repairman who's joined in with a group of raiders in the Capital Wasteland and has since been regretting his career choice, and his robot Buzzo, a Mr. Gutsy with a pacifist personality subroutine.
1. Sand and Pilot Lights

"Your wiring's all mucked up. The fuck were you doing last time I sent you out?"

"My duty as a soldier of this army!"

"Be a bit more specific. How'd this shit get inside you?"

"Well, my mission was to retrieve any and all sorts of ammu-"

"I know the mission; I was the one who sent you out on the damn thing."

"Acknowledged. Anyways, as any good soldier knows, stealth is as viable an option to making your enemies eat lead! I came along a band of those mutated commies along my way back! Engaging them would be a death sentence, so I did the next best thing!"

"Which was?"

"Stealth!"

"How the fuck does a Mr. Gutsy utilize stealth?"

"Easily, sir! I deactivate my thruster module, and crawl my way through the filth!"

"And that's why you've got enough sand inside you to fill a playground."

"Precisely!"

I stared the Gutsy down, giving it a sneer after a moment of silence. "Oh, of course! And guess who's the bastard that has to clean your ass out?"

The Gutsy practically chirped its response. "You, sir! You are my commander af-"

Before it could finish its remark I had deactivated the unit remotely via my terminal. Had to refrain punching a hole through the screen of it, reminding myself I'd just have to fix that too.

"Piece of shit hunk of metal. Don't know why I still work on you." I stood from my seat, continuing to remove the robot's plating. Dust, dirt and grime flowed from its inner workings, a waterfall of Wasteland. Deciding this wasn't worth messing with right then and there, I set the plating down next to where the robot "slept," and leaned against the railing of my shitty little shack, popping a Mentat.

 _Yeah, sure. Bein' a raider is a goddamned joyride. Pillaging, raping, you're basically a goddamned Viking with guns.  
_ "Bullshit," I groaned aloud, recollecting the first time that dipshit friend of mine talked me into this lifestyle. Same guy got wasted when he thought it'd be a good idea to torment a big guy in power armor for their caps. Tried hitting him over the head with a pool cue. I wanted to double-check with him that he knows that power armor, like most protective wear these days, is made of metal, but it's a little hard to keep interesting conversation with a pile of ash. Serves him right, Wasteland just kills anyone it likes, especially the idiots. Hell, I don't think I could really call myself much of a "raider" at all. I'd just stick back and watch home base, fixing anything the guys thought was worth the effort, and tinkering on Buzzo. That's what I would call the Gutsy. At the time, I thought the bot was a slag pile, but it kept me otherwise occupied. Aside from feeding my Mentats addiction whenever I could, of course. You may be thinking: "Mentats? Of all the garbage to get hooked on, Mentats?"

Yeah, Mentats. Think I could safely blame my interest in robots for that. Made tinkering easier and if you take enough, you feel like a goddamned genius.

I chewed on the pill for a while, staring out at the broken walls of wood and steel that could be loosely defined as defenses. Was still no sign of the others since they had left the day prior to ambush a caravan on-route to Megaton. I was pretty sure they died, at least most of them. Those caravan guards are always armed to the teeth. Shotguns, assault rifles, grenades, you name it. If you look even remotely suspicious, they'll already have a laser rifle past your small intestine before you even realize it.

 _You're better than this, Gubbs. Hell, half these idiots can't even read, let alone live long enough to survive three outings in the Wastes._

I popped another pill, feeling like I could punch rocket science in the face and make it my bitch.

Receding from the railing, I felt the need to do something with my hands, the Mentats making me antsy to use my "newfound knowledge". So, I started draining the sand out of Buzzo again. In my enhanced state of focus, I didn't notice the shotgun barrel pressed to the back of my head. Not until I heard the distinctive noise of _"Chik-chuk!"_

I almost shat myself. Actually, I think I did. Though, you can't quite focus on bodily functions when a master key is about to unlock the way through your fucking skull.

"Listen up, because I'm only saying this once," said my assailant's raspy voice from behind. "Where are your pilot lights?"

Normally I'd give this guy a shit-eating grin and say something along the lines of "Down in aisle five, sir. Next to kitchen appliances!" But my wit ran dry, on account of the fear of death.

"Pilot… Lights?" I stuttered, the feeling of genius leaving my body at light speed.

"Those little light bulb-looking things ovens have!"

Seemingly a million questions ran through my mind. _Why does he need a pilot light so badly?_ _Why is he threatening me over a pilot light? Where the Hell are the dipshits I live with? Am I about to die over a fucking piece of cooking equipment?_

In my confused and terrified stupor, the most I could do was point in the general direction of where we kept our ovens. One of my "co-workers" liked to keep the bloody gibs of his victims inside the damn things. Fucking loon.

"Thanks."

And with that, he proceeded towards our ovens, ripping out their only way of functioning, and continuing on his way out to the Wasteland. All I could do was just watch him work, my jaw hanging agape. At one point he smiled back at me and waved his hand, like we had been life-long friends or some shit.

 _Thank God for our gore-hoarding psychopath and his ovens._

(Author's Note: And there's the first chapter of what I'm hoping will be a relatively long-running story. Comments and reviews are appreciated, have a nice day.)


	2. Mentats and Communism

It had been about a week since the other raiders left then. My encounter with Mr. Pilot Light had put me a bit more on edge, causing me to look around more often, checking little crevices where a stealthy scavenger-type fellow might be waiting to slit my throat. I was certain that the others had all died; the caravan route to Megaton couldn't have been more than a couple miles north of our base. Sure am glad I never bothered fostering a relationship with any of them. Not that I even could have if I wanted to, interaction with the lot was about as charming as a radroach with lipstick.

One thing I was curious about was exactly how they might have died. A band of seven or so raiders, half of them pumped up on Psycho, the other half on Jet, and all of them having some damn decent firepower. Hell, our self-proclaimed "leader" Horse had one of those automatic rifles the Chinese used back when they were invading during the Great War. Those things are damn hard to come by.

Eventually I found myself fantasizing how they died. Well, not fantasizing. I didn't hate them THAT much. I'd call it pondering. Pondering how such a large raider gang might have been completely taken down. My first thought was of course, Deathclaw. That's usually an easy explanation if someone just goes missing one day out in the wastes, and all you can find of them is a new, exciting recipe for blood pudding along the route they took. I debunked that theory quickly, though. The only time you ever see a Deathclaw in that part of the wastes is if it wandered all the way from Old Olney after picking up the scent of a herd of Brahmin or something.

Next assumption I had was Yao Guai. But again, it couldn't have been that. You pump enough bullets into their hide and they'll fall right over. It always takes a ton of bullets, though. At least one guy would die in that situation at most.

Eventually, after running the scenarios through my head, I came to the conclusion that they all probably met their fates to one of three things. A hunting party of super mutants, one of the odd patrols of those assholes in black and red power armor that think they own the whole damn wasteland, or the caravan they tried to raid had a mini nuke handy. Either way, I had the whole base to myself.

First thing I did was remove all the nasty bits of wastelander gore we had lying around from the immediate area. Had maggots and rot in them, they hardly counted as decorations if you would ask me. I dumped them into a nearby ditch Horse made some of the dumber raiders dig up, thinking that it'd be a great way to get clean water. "Just like the old world, man" he had said. I tried explaining to him that the fallout would 'a seeped through the dirt by now, and it'd probably be like drinking the atomic fuel from out of a car. He didn't listen until they had hit a buried landfill full of those radioactive barrels and one of the guys died damn near instantly trying to climb out of the ditch. Thinking about it, his body might have actually still been down there. Oh well. I'm not risking my ass to save some dead asshole.

After dragging out anything else that had some sort of dried blood or unidentifiable substance on it (especially the now broken ovens, which smelled like a dirty morgue) I went about fixing up the place, making it look spiffy. Well, at least as spiffy as you can make a place like a raider camp look. Not like I had much better to do. Most I could do was nail more steel sheeting into the barricades.

Eventually, how quiet the whole place had turned had gotten to me. I had become so used to the hoots and hollers of the guys, the screams of some wasteland asshole getting executed for the hell of it in the shed, the constant crackle of our numerous fire barrels. I had learned to just drone all the noise out. And now that they were gone, the place felt like a ghost town. Hell, probably more like one of those abandoned ruins that not even those damned zombies in the metro tunnels would consider it a decent place to live. The kind of place that holds that sort of unsettling quiet. Where your only company you get is the whistle of the dry wind and the ever so often series of gunshots off in the distance.

So, against my better judgment, to keep myself from going mad from loneliness, I activated the robot. A couple quick selections from my terminal, and Buzzo floated up into activation, a few clicks and whirrs accompanying the startup of its thruster.

"Gutsy unit 47-12, soldier designation 'Buzzo' is online, hoo-rah! Chance of sudden power failure is twelve percent! Chance of combat inhibitor failure is zero percent! Chance that red Chinese bastards have invaded is- Dear God, one-hundred percent! Enabling warning drone to-"

A few clicks at my terminal, and I had overridden the "Commie-Checker" routine as I had called it.

"Command override recognized, continuing self diagnosis. Thruster fuel is at optimum level! Warning! Flamethrower and plasma cartridge storages are severely low! This unit will not be able to fight properly without ammo!"

And with that, I activated Buzzo's personality subroutine. At first the bot looked around, seemingly slightly confused. Then, one of its tracking sensors locked onto me with a cold metal gaze.

"Commander Gubbs! With all due respect sir, did you deactivate me mid-sentence again?"

"Yeah, Buzzo. I did."

"Again, with respect sir, that was quite rude!"

"How else was I supposed to get that dirt out of you? You squirm too much whenever I try to work on you, dammit."

"Apologies, sir. I tend to get nervous," it stated, the robot starting to do a small patrol around the base. "Goodness, sir! This area is looking a whopping thirty percent less disgusting! Congratulations!"

I broke open a brand new tin of Mentats, leaning back in my chair. "Thanks."

Buzzo continued to aimlessly patrol for a small while, before again breaking the silence. "Sir, our squadron hasn't returned from their mission to apprehend that Chinese shipment, have they?"

In a Gutsy's mind, everything is a goddamned communist. It's funny the first day, annoying as Hell the second day onwards. "Yeah, yeah, sure. Commies. No, they haven't been back."

"Sir, they could have been ambushed! And- Killed! Gone AWOL! In any case we have to go find our squad mates, and ensure their safety!"

I leaned back, put my boots up on the table, and reached into the tin for some another smart pill. "Nah."

"Nah? Nah?! Sir, how could you just abandon your mates like that in such a time of their possible need?!" It swayed back and forth, a simulated concern in its metal voice. "What kind of commanding officer just abandons his men?"

This was the main problem I had with that damn robot. You see, Buzzo was more of a personal experiment than a soldier in-duty. One of the crazies pre-war thought it'd be a good idea to toy around with a Gutsy's personality subroutine. Your average mass-produced General Atomics Gutsy was designed to be an all-American commie-hating Uncle Sam-smooching soldier who follows orders by the finest detail.

Well, with Buzzo, he did have the American momma's boy soldier crap installed, yeah. However with the tampering that numbskull did, they managed to make a robot that looks at every situation like it can play out to benefit both parties of a conflict. Or, if not that, it generates some crazy plan to successfully complete a mission so it won't have to engage combat. So, I was stuck with a machine that thought everything hostile was a communist, but at the same time it wanted to talk things out, or come up with a hare-brained idea so it didn't have to fight.

In short, it's a robot designed for combat that was annoyingly cheery, and a borderline pacifist. The reason I say borderline, is because if you barked orders at it enough, it eventually would attack.

With all that in mind, I just ignored Buzzo's questions and let myself start to brainstorm, the Mentats really kicking in hard. This was a damned good tin of smart pills. I could care less about anything else just then. I started to imagine building a Brahmin-shit powered flying machine, the schematics within my mind. Sometimes the 'tats make really bad ideas sound like they're badass.

When I finally came out of my focus, the sun was just about to set over the dusty horizon. I sighed, contentedly, reaching into my tin, until I realized something.

 _The quiet's back._

Nothing but dusty wind and the occasional gunshot. This was a major problem, because the sound of Gutsy thrusters was absent as well. Buzzo was nowhere in sight. I scanned over the area once, twice, thrice, and there was still no robot anywhere.

Calmly, I logged onto my terminal, punching in the password.

 _Couldn't have wandered far. Probably just wanted to go play with a mole rat again..._

I started typing out a "return unit" command. As annoying as I may have found Buzzo, I still didn't like not having it within direct sight.

 **ERROR: UNABLE TO TRANSFER RETURN COMMAND. UNIT OUT OF RANGE.**

"Wuh-oh."

I inputted the same command three times, still no dice. It was then I noticed the latest entry on my terminal, in the form of a received message. From a Gutsy's message interface. I opened it up.

"Sir, it's with great displeasure that I must refuse my orders to stay here at base. It may be cleaner, and significantly quieter, but I cannot rest knowing soldiers out there may be in danger. This unit needs conformation on our fellow soldier's whereabouts, and it intends upon finding them! I find it sad that my commanding officer would have such a cold heart. I hope when I return, you'll be willing to apologize to your squad mates for your indecency. Unit 47-12, designation 'Buzzo' signing off."

And, just then, I imagined the same one of three things that had killed the other raiders, brutally destroying Buzzo. Speechless, hoping that just maybe it'd wander within range again; I tried to return Buzzo to its home point one last time.

 **ERROR: UNABLE TO TRANSFER RETURN COMMAND. UNIT OUT OF RANGE.**

(Author's Note: And there we have it, chapter two. I'll be brutally honest; I wasn't expecting this to get such positive overall reception from the start. It brought a smile to my face seeing your guy's feedback, and I sincerely thank you for taking the time to leave your two cents on the story thus far. Remember, any reviews are appreciated, and I hope you have a wonderful day.)


	3. Laser Pistols and Radiation

_Fuck._

At that moment, I'm not sure what came over me. I practically flew out of my chair, rummaging through the various loot piles we had around the base. I had sunk days upon weeks of my time fixing up that robot, I wasn't about to let some wasteland asshole strip it for parts.

I sprinted between each wall of sheet metal, looking through piles of weapons and shitty little trinkets. Nothing we had was good. Rusted-up machetes, a .32 pistol that had its cylinder filled with dirt, a sawed-off shotgun with one of its barrels cut way too close to the base so the kick would send the gun flying right, all garbage. Then, there it was. The safe at the bottom of the irradiated mineshaft. A laser pistol snugly fit between a plethora of broken weapons. I grabbed it, and checked the E-cell slot. Looked fully charged, so I had roughly twenty-five to thirty pulls of the trigger before I have to start running for dear life. I holstered the pistol to a clip on my waist, and was about to go charging into the wasteland after my robot.

Then, the realization hit me like a ton of bricks.

 _I'm just some lone asshole in a RobCo jumpsuit with a shitty little pew-pew gun, in a world where basically everything wants you dead. When was the last time I even fired a gun? I honestly can't remember..._

All I could do was just stand there, at the entrance of the raider camp I had grown so accustomed to living in. The trigger-happy maniacs I bunked with did all the fighting without me. I almost considered turning back. Going back to my chair and saying "Fuck it" and just wait for something else to kill me. But, there was one thing that made me take that first step, one thing I knew I had to strive for, and leave that place of safety to venture out into the wastes and keep Buzzo from getting itself destroyed.

I sunk a lot of caps into buying that fucker's thruster module, I'm not about to let all that money go to waste.

And with that thought in mind, I overcame the urge to wimp out, and hit the trail.

The wasteland was about as lifeless and dry as it almost always was. Dirt, bones, bullet casings from a fight long since ended, and more dirt. I kept my wits about me, checking my surrounding regularly. Off in the distance, I could make out Tenpenny Towers, standing tall and proud like always. Last I heard from that kook Three Dog on the radio there was a dispute between some ghouls and the folks living there, some jargon about how the ghouls are being refused entry or something. I really could've care less.

After a considerably long walk, I made it to the ruins of Springvale, just downwind of Megaton. As far as I could tell, there were no signs of either Buzzo or anybody's corpses I knew. It was still quiet. Not even one of those Eyebots you see floating around, playing patriotic Old World tunes were buzzing about.

Then, it hit. A roar of an explosion boomed around me, deafening all other noise in the immediate area. Dust flew, and I was knocked clean off my feet by a massive shockwave. I was thrown into the carcass of a ruined building, propped against the last standing wall of wood and concrete. The world was nothing but a massive dust storm, I couldn't see past my nose and my eyes began to tear, making their futile attempt to remove the dust from them. I blinked several times, trying to focus. There was a bright light to the north, somehow managing to cut itss way through the wall of airborne sand. It was scarily close.

Then, as quickly as the dust storm had come, it had settled. Streets, mailboxes, cars, everything was now covered in displaced earth and sand. And, within my disbelief, I found myself looking directly at a mushroom cloud. At first, I was confused. Scared, even. My mind raced and my heartbeat quickened. Then I understood. It was blatantly obvious. That bomb those nutcases were living around. Something or _someone_ finally got that thing to tick of

All I could do was just sit and watch. Watch the plume of atomic dust slowly roll off. Eventually, I managed to break my trance and take a good look at myself. I had a giant wooden stake gouged in my left arm. Probably was flying debris. I have no idea how I didn't realize that was there before. I'm guessing my mind was just completely focused on other matters. And as soon as I realized its existence, the pain it caused hit me. I let out a weak yelp at the sudden shock, and just stared at it. I was too weak to move. I felt like I was paralyzed from the neck down.

I risked my ass going after a stupid robot, and this was where it got me. Near death from an atomic explosion.

"God, please… Please let me die from either blood loss or the radiation poisoning… And not turn me into a fuckin' zombie…"

I started blacking out. I felt blood trickle down my arm and the warmth of radiation envelop me. I knew I was about to die. I fell over, lying on my back, mouth dry and filled with dust. Right as I was about to pass out, I felt something lift me. Grabbed me and started carrying me away.

Last I remember I was staring at the ground passing below me as I was carried, and a voice spoke out. I wasn't sure from where, but I guessed it was from the guy who grabbed me.

"Damn, friend… You managed to get yourself fucked up right and proper."

Then, I blacked out.

(Author's Note: Apologies for Chapter Three being on such a long delay from the other two. I don't have any other excuse for not writing it other than I stopped caring for a while. But, I'm back now, and I'll try and do my best to keep a regular update schedule from here on out. Thank you for reading, have a nice day.)


	4. RadAway and Purified Water

_"Children of the Capital Wasteland, it's your teller of truths, your guru of the what-nows and what to know in the Wasteland, Three Dog here. And, I'm here with a special live broadcast! Well, ain't exactly special, to be perfectly honest. But it is important. Kiddos, it's with a heavy heart that I've gotta be the one to tell you that Megaton is… Well, to put it lightly, wiped clean off the face of the fucking Earth. You heard me right. And I know what you're thinking. 'Three Dog, it was the big ol' bomb that went off, wasn't it?' Well, you'd be right. But it ain't just a coincidence, no-sir-eee. No, that bomb was set off. No way would the thing just decide to detonate after a good two-hundred years. But who's the culprit, you ask? Well, as much as I wish I could tell you and announce 'get the fucker,' I don't. Because there's nobody left alive to say."_

The harsh Sun's rays beating at my face were what woke me. At first, I thought the lord had finally swept me up then promptly flung me right down to Hell where I was sure I'd end up. But no. Same Capital Wasteland, same shithole dust. I managed to sit up, observing my surroundings. I was in one of those old pre-war military tents you see pitched up every now and then, plopped onto a medical table. To my left was a radio set on an old grimy table, playing the same shitty pre-war music as always on GNR. I don't know why everybody wanted to write a song about atom bombs, or it being the end of the world, or anything like that, but it was especially irritating to me at this moment. And to the right there were enough rad chems to keep you alive even after an atomic expl-

"Oh shit, I just survived an atomic explosion, didn't I?"

I sure as fuck did. My arm was stitched shut, cleaned, and definitely didn't have a giant piece of wood sticking out of it. Mouth was dry and my head hurt, probably from both a lack of water and Mentats.

 _Dammit, I could really use a Mentat._

I swung my legs over to one side of the operating table, checked to see if they still worked with a bit of pressure. They were fine, it seemed, so I stood.

"Hey, uh, person who saved me from the blast! Hello?"

No answer. Couldn't have just been a miracle or anything, I specifically remembered being lifted. I continued my way out the tent, and without realizing it, bumped right into the man responsible for rescuing me.

"Oh, whoops, sorry I did-"

I stopped dead in my tracks, recognizing the man almost instantly. The fucker with the shotgun, Mr. Pilot Light. The tower of a man easily stood a head higher than I did. He hardly even moved a muscle, silently even after we collided, silently staring off into the vast emptiness of the wastes. He turned to look at me, his gruff features screaming "I'll kill you if you so much as look as me funny, asshole." His skin was a light brown, and he had a beard bushy enough you could probably suffocate someone in it. His outfit was primarily a sort of combat armor with a ratty old duster coat over it. He looked me over for a moment before breaking into a hearty laugh and enveloping me into a bear hug.

"My good friend, I'm ever so glad to see you're alive and well! You wouldn't believe the amount of RadAway I had to pump into you to get you going strong again! I'm surprised you didn't shrivel up like a raisin from dehydration!"

All I could muster was a "W- what the fuck?"

"What, you do not like doing things for others? For shame, Jumpsuit, for shame!"

Just a short time ago this exact guy was threatening me over pilot lights and now he's hugging me and rescuing my ass from nuclear fire?

"We have not been properly introduced, have we? No, we haven't! Not since the encounter at your camp, Jumpsuit! I am Val, but most of my friends call me 'Mr. Pilot Light.' Funny name, right?"

 _Holy_ _ **shit**_ _he actually calls himself Mr. Pilot Light?_

"Uh, Yeah, I can understand why. You did kind of threaten me violently to hand over all of the pilot lights I had last-"

"Yes, yes, I understand, but you have to understand as well. You see, I am not good with trading. Or anything of that sort. So, I keep some hits of the good stuff with me. Psycho!"

"You mean the stuff that makes you insanely violent?"

"Yes, that."

"Why… Never mind. I'm Gubbs."

"I call you 'Jumpsuit' instead, alright?"

"'Jumpsuit?' Why Ju-"

"Because I am collecting pilot lights and called 'Mr. Pilot Light,' and you wear a jumpsuit! So… 'Jumpsuit!'"

I wasn't about to argue with the guy over a nickname, so I let him have his nickname for me.

"Well, friend, should you be thirsty, I have water in the bag over there."

"You have Mentats?"

"You mean the gross little pills that give you a head rush?"

"Yeah, those."

"In the bag."

As I crouched over and ruffled through Pilot Light's belongings, I sure enough found a bottle of water and a tin of smarty goodness underneath a stack of preserved, you guessed it, pilot lights. I pulled up a chair, took it, and started popping.

"So, Pilot Light," I said, the throbbing in my head starting to fade, increasing my focus. "How did you find me, and why did you bother dragging me out of that wreck?"

"Well…" He mumbled, brow furrowing and face changing to an almost constipated expression as he tried to remember. "I was heading down to Megaton to resupply. Buy medicine from the Doctor Church. Get noodles from the Brass Lantern. And most importantly, trade salvage for pilot lights with Moira. But, as I was on the approach, BOOM," he gestured his arms alongside the exclamation for added dramatic effect, "Big mushroom cloud where the town is. So, I do what any scavver with half a brain would do. Take some Rad-X and check out what survived the blast. First come, first serve as they say!"

He sipped from his bottle of water, which looked a little cloudy and grey from where I was sitting. Mr. Pilot Light cleared his throat, and continued. "So, as I make my approach I see you on the side of the road. Of course I was going to loot your body at first, but then I recognized you as the nice jumpsuit man who gave me about four pilot lights for free, so I decide I'd repay you by doing everything I can to keep you from dying my good friend. And it seems I succeeded!"

"Well, I appreciate it, Pilot Light." It was still all a crazy scenario to me. But, when he wasn't pumped up on Psycho, Mr. Pilot Light wasn't all that bad a guy. Hell, he was the best company I'd had since before I joined up with Horse's gang.

"And what were you doing when bomb blasted, friend?" Pilot Light asked.

"Well," I shifted uncomfortably, thinking of how I could word my speech without sounding like a raider, "I was out looking for some folks. And a robot. Well, more importantly the robot. It's got some sort of error with its sympathy diagnostic and went out to try and find some… Friends of mine that I'm pretty sure are just dead."

"Hm. Sounds like quite the pickle."

"Yeah. A working Gutsy that's not immediately hostile to you isn't exactly a commodity."

"And you get it working yourself, did you?"

"Sure did. I take pride in my experience with robotics."

"You look the type. No reason to just let a good robot go to waste. Here, let me make you an offer. Is that okay?"

"Shoot."

"You want your robot. And I want secret thing. Thing that I don't wanna tell you just yet, but just know that I need someone who's good with robots for. You are good with robots. So, I help you find your robot, and in return you travel with me to West to destination."

"How far west?"

"Outside of Capital Wasteland west."

"That's a long distance to walk, pal."

"Well, I'm sure you know how dangerous the wastes are. After all, you were caught in the middle of a nuclear blast…"

I shook my head. "Alright, alright, I get it. Not like there's much of anything I've really got around here anyways. I just don't appreciate the secrecy is all. Sure we'll be able to make it?"

"I am positive. Plus, in the end, we will both benefit. You will have your robot, and, well, something extra."

I thought for a moment, wondering if this was what I really wanted. "Eh, sure. Fuck it."

Mr. Pilot Light jolted up and out of his chair, bearing a big smile and outstretched arms. "Then it's settled," he exclaimed, "tomorrow, we go out, and start looking for robot! And then afterwards, west!"

"Yeah… West."

I knew I had just agreed to a giant, probably pointless trip, but having Mr. Pilot Light as a companion was oddly comforting. Probably because he wasn't an asshole raider. Nonetheless, we had an agreement.

(Author's Note: There's really no excuse for me to not have been continuing the story. I just got lazy, and didn't bother writing anything for a while. But, I'm back, and this time for SURE I'm going to upload chapters at much more regular intervals. Again, I apologize for those who are reading this. And thank you for sticking around this long if you have. Those of you who are new, I hope you're enjoying it thus far. Thank you, and have a good rest of your day.)


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